


Heart rot

by Sheenianni



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 18:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21280922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheenianni/pseuds/Sheenianni
Summary: The Forest and Free Magic; two voices that call to her. After a long journey, Clariel begins her exile. Post-Clariel (may or may not be part of canon, depending on your preference).
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Heart rot

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the first day of mini-wrimo. There was this beautiful picture prompt of a peaceful misty road in tall grass which brought me here…

The mule walked sluggishly through the tall grass; the hours blending together in a dull monotony, each day the same even as the sun set and then rose again. Yesterday, Clariel dimly wondered whether they were moving at all, the end of the steppe still beyond the horizon.

Today she finally saw it. For the first time in weeks, something in her flickered, like a small green lizard stirring in its hole when the snows start melting.

It had been six weeks since Bel helped her escape Belisaere. She had left Old Marral a week ago shortly after they crossed the bridge, ordering him to guard their boat while she went to buy their horses. Clariel wondered whether the fisherman was still standing there in the small harbor, whether he realized by now that she had never intended to come back. Cruel as it was, she couldn’t even pretend to care.

_She had never been good at caring for people._

Under the bronze mask, the scars on her face throbbed. Once again, the pain brought back memories, tasting like blood and ashes. Reminded of everything she had lost, Clariel felt a the now familiar wave of grief, shame and anger, mixed with a sharp desire to _control_, to rule.

_Power._

Maggot’s words came to her again. _‘There is Free magic, just beyond the Rift.’_ She thought of the Necromancer’s bells hidden beneath the hill of Mount Aunden, calling her name, waiting for her command. To once again force her will on a Free magic creature… to wield the bells and shape the world according to her will, never again being someone’s puppet… _If she took them. If she betrayed Belatiel and her old self for one last time._

_And why shouldn’t she…_

The mule stumbled a little, bringing Clariel back to reality. 

The forest was close now, perhaps a half-an-hour ride away. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but Clariel suddenly felt a breeze on her skin, like an echo of the trees ahead. She poked the mule with her heels, making it go faster. That forgotten _something_ in her stirred again, and then it seemed that the foreign forest was welcoming her, like a stranger offering to be her friend. 

Clariel didn’t trust strangers. And yet… there was something soothing about the line of trees, and she clenched her fists at the unexpected pang of longing.

She battled with these thoughts until the near edge of the forest. Stopping the mule, Clariel climbed off and then stilled as her boots hit the ground. 

Taking a deep breath, the smell of pine needles and oak leafs filled her nostrils, mixed with the now familiar metallic odor. Almost on instinct, Clariel’s hands moved to her face. Once again breathing in the aroma of the trees, she pulled at the straps and took off her mask. 

The sun hit her face, and then the forest _assaulted_ all her senses. The beauty of the greenery ahead, the breeze now caressing her badly cropped hair, the smell of the ground as she crouched down and picked up a handful of dirt and grass… Leaving the mule abandoned for the moment, Clariel took a step into the forest, and then… 

_She remembered the Great Forest, her aunt Lemmin, Bel’s kindness. She remembered a different taste of freedom – the freedom she had when she roamed alone under the trees; freedom that didn’t need to cut through others, to burn and destroy everything in its way. _

_Freedom to breathe and wander. Freedom to simply be._

The scar on her forehead throbbed again, and Clariel snorted in contempt and despair. That sort of life might have made her happy once, but no more. She had seen too much, done too much. She had commanded Free Magic creatures and bent them to her will. She had helped murder the King, willingly or not; she had listened to the seducing song of Free magic; she had been drunk on power and now craved even more. She was twisted and misshapen like a sick tree; the old pathways didn’t suit her anymore. 

_Didn’t they?_

She kneeled down on the forest ground, breathing the air into her scarred lungs.

_A chipmunk ran across the trunk not too far from her. Above her, two birds were chirping. A small green lizard poked its head from under a rock and then climbed to catch some sun…_

The mask fell out of her fingers. Clariel buried both her hands in the fallen leafs and closed her eyes, alone in silence, finally allowing the tears to flow.

When she stood up later, the sun had moved on the sky. Determined, she picked up the mask and buried it under the roots of a young beech, then covered it with several big stones. The forest breeze touched her face again, as if in approval.

She’d need to build a shelter; make a bow and arrows, make some animal traps. She had some time, but winter would come eventually and she needed to be ready. She still had some money from Bel, and once she started hunting, she could trade animal skins and horns for the things she wouldn’t be able to obtain herself.

_She had once wanted this. She had once_ longed_ for this…_

The Free magic song called again. The bells, two hundred miles away, _demanded_ that she pick them up.

Rubbing the handful of leaves between her fingers, Clariel pressed them to her face.

_Let it be enough. Please..._

Then she deliberately turned away from the direction of the Rift, from the direction of the hill and started walking deep into the forest.


End file.
